


Minted Expectations

by MA477LL



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MA477LL/pseuds/MA477LL
Summary: Five times Jen kisses Judy, but super contrived.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 56
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ben's dead. For plot reasons. Nah, I’m just petty.
> 
> This started as a short “five times Jen kisses Judy” fic, but turned really contrived? Still, it has the 5-scenes format, and chapters are irregular in tone and length, so I’m going to post one chapter every couple of days until I’m done. 
> 
> Pérez says one word, but she deserves top billing for it.
> 
> Thank you @daisythekatycat for telling me Judy’s car model (^.^)

1.

Lies of omission are a lesser evil.

Judy learns that when she is fourteen. Her foster sister, Rania, who always wears a colourful scarf and is just a few days away from aging out of the system, explains it. Rania talks of dangers that Judy only understands in hindsight, years after their conversation.

But this, she _learns_.

That nobody wants to know Judy; that people only ever want to talk about themselves.

How this knowledge is something she can _use_ to survive.

On the tail end of that discussion, Judy comes up with a simple, two-pronged, life hack: first, give a compliment, then, ask a question.

It turns any line of inquiry into a conversation about the other person.

Often, Judy even gets a smile out of it, which seems like a fair deal to her.

Rania also says that if Judy wants a final family, she needs to make herself small.

Smaller than small.

She must be _nothing_ , to slip under the radar.

Smile and nod along, and always, always, be fine, when asked.

 _If_ asked.

“Say sorry, please, and thank you.”

“What if I don’t like something?”

Rania’s eyes darkened, knowing of the unspeakable monsters that lurked in the corners of the system. How foster care was about to twist her soul into a knot so tight, she may soon be unrecognizable. Rania opened her arms then, giving her a hug that had mattered to young Judy. “You hang tight and stay yourself, alright?” she whispered fiercely.

Rania was wrong, but she did not fully understand Judy’s journey; how she would be able to scratch the silver lining off life’s backhands. Find happiness in pedestrian things like finally, _finally_ , having an address she could fill in the forms at school that was not the plate of a car.

Judy never sees Rania again, never gets a final family, but she learns the lesson so well that, thirty years later, Jen does not realize Judy has not told her _anything_ about herself, or really answered her questions, until she uncovers the first of Judy’s lies when she meets Steve.

It is hard for Judy to stop doing it, despite all the years that layer over the smog of memory, because _it works_.

People _like_ Judy.

She is a mirror that reflects a twin profile. Shows a kinder, smarter, prettier version. The blueprint of what could be, instead of what is.

And _like_ may be the poor cousin specter of _love_ , but it is halfway to a destination that has always felt unearned, and so, Judy is addicted to being liked.

Needs it more than she needs to be known.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it is Charlie who catches on to it first.

xxx

It is just another Thursday, and Judy is home early, entertaining Henry and allowing Charlie to sit with his feet up on the table. He is pretending to be engrossed in one of his violent games, when, in reality, he is paying attention as Judy cooks and chats with Henry and him.

Judy does not fool herself into thinking she has all the time in the world. What they did was terrible, utterly despicable. It will catch up to them eventually. Jen knows it, too. But they have made peace with it, with fate and the balance of life, and are going through this intermission between acts where they allow themselves to _live_.

To _breathe_.

When Jen arrives home, she looks energized, eyes sparkling, fresh even after a full day of work, and Judy knows she must have sold the Fernandez’s house.

Judy admires her as she greets the boys, eyes drawn to her beauty, the vibrant energy that radiates off her. Jen hates it when Judy talks about it, but there _is_ an energetic shift whenever Jen gets home. A magnetism that both pulls and pushes Judy, trapping her in Jen’s orbit.

Maybe, it is simply that Judy is in love with her.

“Hey, you,” Jen smiles as she approaches her. There is a certain tone of voice that she uses with Judy that is almost intimate, knowing. A look in her eye that makes Judy feel seen.

Like Judy matters.

Like if she was not there, Jen would notice.

Judy is busy at the kitchen isle, cutting way too many vegetables, and Jen tries not to let the excess of greenery bother her, “something smells wonderful,” she says as she takes a deep breath, catching also a bit of Judy’s scent.

The kitchen is now their family life centre, the children drawn to Judy as much as Jen is. When Ted was alive, Jen hid from his disgust in Henry’s room, and Charlie hid from her anger in his father’s studio. They had needed a large house, to host their distances and disappointments. Now, they could live as a human pile, and Jen would be the only one grouching about space, just to inevitably crawl into Judy’s in the following breath. 

Jen draws closer as she reaches behind Judy for the bottle opener. There are two glasses and a bottle of _Rivera del Duero_ already at the kitchen isle, waiting for her arrival.

Lately, when Judy gets home, she kisses all of them, Jen included. Jen wants to reciprocate, but tenderness is an ill-fitting suit on her, and most often, she overthinks it, cannot nail the landing. Her hands feel too large, and she struggles with where to place them. Sometimes, she ends up kissing Judy on the neck, or too close to the mouth, because Judy is always trying to help, to ease her into it, and turns towards Jen, throwing her aim.

She puts her hand too low on Judy’s hip, bumps noses, “Judy, for fucks’ sake,” she laughs as she pulls back, flustered, after kissing Judy’s ear, “will you just let me fucking kiss you? you know it’s physically impossible for _both_ of us to kiss each other’s cheeks simultaneously? Like there is just _no_ way.” 

Judy shrugs, “I like you kissing my earlobe,” she gives her a lopsided smirk, stands on her toes so she can whisper in Jen’s ear, mindful of the children, “in fact, wanna tongue it?”

Jen pushes Judy away with the hand at her hip, “no.”

She reaches for the bottle of wine, opening it and pouring each of them a glass, still smiling at Judy’s silliness. She takes a generous sip, “shit, this is good,” looks at Judy over the rim of the glass.

Today, Judy is paler than usual, dark circles bruising her features, but her eyes are clear, “anyway, how are you, did you have a good day?”

Judy’s lips tremble before she smiles. She opens her arms to point at all the half-cooked ingredients, “I’m trying a new pasta dish.” She lets her eyes flick over Jen, smile growing bigger, “that’s a lovely jacket,” she leers a bit as she adds, “green _does_ become you,” then, her eyebrows draw closer together as she considers, “were you wearing that all day? It’s been kinda hot, right?”

And that launches Jen into a tirade about how the A/C was broken in one of the houses she had to show, snarking unkindly about how cheap the previous owners must have been, while Judy just hums and nods in all the right places.

“That’s such bullshit,” Charlie interrupts.

“The fuck?” Jen snaps, “Char, could you maybe not be _the_ rudest person in Laguna? Aim, I don’t know, for top twenty?”

“But it’s bullshit.”

Jen inhales, but before she can go off, she feels the light brush of Judy’s fingers on her back. Her breath comes out in a big exhale, emptying her lungs as she mentally counts down from three, _trying_. Her tone still comes out harsh, but much less so than if she had skipped the countdown, “ _what_ is bullshit?”

“Judy,” he points his finger at Judy, who takes half a step back, taken aback by the unexpected attack. She makes a little wounded sound deep in her throat, something between a gasp and a swallow, that makes Jen glance her way in concern, as she unconsciously moves her body in front of Judy’s. “Charlie, what the fuck are you talking about.”

“She never answers, mom,” he frowns, “you asked her how she is, and she didn’t answer,” his voice lowers as he explains, “and it’s not just now, she does it _all_ the time.” And there is a frustration in his voice that speaks of love. Of wanting to _know_ Judy.

“She _did_ answer,” Jen says hotly, and Judy nods emphatically, but then Jen stops, turns, notices again the dark circles, the slight slump. She narrows her eyes as Judy’s eyes get round, “did you?”

“I did?” and it sounds like the question it is.

xxx

It is much later when they finish the conversation.

“Come upstairs,” Jen tells her, grabbing her hand lightly when they finish cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. It is still relatively early. “We can watch that Annita Hill documentary that you wanted to finish?”

Judy lets herself be pulled. She does not have pyjamas in Jen’s room, but she can borrow something. There are very few places she likes more than Jen’s bed, Jen’s clothes.

It happens sometimes, that they not-sleep together in the same bed.

Every time, it thrills Judy.

It is a dangerously thin line to walk, and almost always, she goes back first to her room to change and get her bearings. Gives herself a pep talk, “she’s _not_ into you, Judy, get over it,” she tells her image in the mirror.

Judy wholeheartedly agrees with her reflection. But when Jen turns off the light, sometimes she snuggles too close, moving her hands over Jen’s stomach and chest. Allowing her feet to rub against Jen’s calves. Pushing her face into Jen’s neck until all she can smell is her body wash, all she can hear is Jen’s breathing.

Jen is not a cuddler. Every time, she pulls Judy closer.

That night, Jen hands her a ratty t-shirt that she must have had since college, it is so sheer and soft, and nothing else. Judy is not one to play it safe, so she takes off her bra and slides into bed in just the t-shirt and panties.

She gives a little cough when Jen reaches for her own pyjama pants.

“Fair’s fair,” Judy says with a smile, as she points at her own legs under the covers.

“Nobody wants to see my legs above the knee.”

“I do,” Judy whines, and then waves Jen over to the bed, wiggling her eyebrows in a silly way, “come rub legs, sexy.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” Jen says.

“Oh, I want you to have them.”

Jen rolls her eyes, and mutters “weirdo,” under her breath, but she drops the pants and gets into bed only in her t-shirt.

Judy immediately slides over, their thighs brushing together under the covers.

They have not talked about Judy being queer, or bi, or pansexual, or whatever it means that she likes women, but it is a knowledge that permeates their relationship now. A soft blanket that drapes over both their bodies in cold nights, colouring the easy physicality between them in shades of confusion.

For Judy, it liberates something she was unconsciously holding back, hides in plain sight the half-truths she tells Jen. Her flirting comes easier if bite-less because, fact is, Jen is straight. Judy has reconciled herself to it; knows that if there was a time for Jen to show an interest in women in general, or in Judy in particular, it is now long past. Judy dating a woman, if anything, had made Jen straighter.

Judy does _not_ hate. She had hated Ben a little.

Jen thinks she understands Judy less, because Judy has escalated the affection, the light touches, the innuendos, but she has Judy’s voice stuck on repeat in the back of her head, saying Michelle was _the first person_ , since Steve, that she could see herself with.

 _She drove that nail right in_.

She puffs her cheeks. _That obviously leaves_ you _out._

“Ok, let’s get our date with Annita Hill going. Ready?” Judy asks as she grabs for the remote, not bothering to pull it out of Jen’s hand, thumb over thumb, pressing until she finds the right channel.

“Seriously?” Jen rolls her eyes at her, but she does not slip her hand from under Judy’s.

 _It is_ her _fucking remote, thank you very much_. 

Judy presses their shoulders together, and settles half against Jen, half against the pillow, wiggling a bit to find the right position.

“Do get comfy,” Jen deadpans.

“Thank you,” Judy smiles widely, “I think I’m good now.”

They are quiet for a bit after that, each lost in their own thoughts.

It is during one of the commercial breaks when Jen asks. “Charlie’s right, isn’t he?”

They are pressed so close together; she feels rather than sees Judy shrug.

Judy is not blind to her own deceptions, but she cannot fully rationalize what she does, the complimenting to nudge people into liking her, the unwillingness to yield to anger, or the inability to lash out that sometimes turns her into a ticking time bomb, ready to implode at the first misguided sign of kindness.

She cannot explain it away, because she means _all_ of it in an honest, earnest way. Her little life hacks are, by now, a genuine part of who she is.

She chooses the easy option: answers Jen’s original question.

“I’ve kind of had _a day_ ,” she whispers, “but I’m totally fine, now,” she rushes to assure Jen.

And she _is_.

You do not get to live the life Judy has led without developing a dozen coping mechanisms, each one unhealthier than the next. They involve sublimating, and swallowing, and forever getting herself used to the distance between what she wants and what she can have.

She is a patched-up boat taking on water from one too many leaks, barely afloat. Musicians playing in the deck as it sinks. Fully conscious that they are drowning in the next strike of the clock, but still choosing to play upbeat ragtimes and waltzes.

Jen moves her arm around her, pulling her closer.

Judy turns fully into her, sliding her left leg on top of Jen’s. She swallows as she feels the silky smoothness of Jen’s leg against hers, warmth travelling up her chest, colouring her neck.

There is a word for torture that you actively seek.

They are so close, that when she speaks, Jen’s cheek brushes Judy’s hair. She whispers, “you don’t have to be fine all the time,” and she rubs her face against Judy’s bangs, messing them up a bit, “you know you could’ve told me, right? That I’d want to know?”

Judy nods, burrows into her, settling more deeply into the bed.

Into Jen.

“ _And_?” Jen says, annoyed after maybe five seconds of waiting for Judy to elaborate. She moves her hand to Judy’s shoulder, forearm across her back, pressing Judy flush against her side and jokingly shaking her. “Tell _me_ about your day, Judy!”

That makes Judy snort, “you’d be a terrible therapist.”

“I’d fucking charge by the fucking minute if I had to listen to people’s problems,” Jen nods, “but you _can’t_ just say you’ve had a bad day and then not say anything else.”

And maybe Jen knows Judy better than she lets on, because she moves her hand from Judy’s shoulder to her neck and the back of Judy’s head, short nails scratching lightly into her scalp, playing with her hair.

It is _so_ not fair. Judy would confess to _anything_ to keep Jen’s hand there.

It is just _hard_ to explain.

Part of Judy’s fine-tuned defence, for years, has been to deconstruct the puzzle of people’s attitudes, beliefs, and behaviours, and then, cherry pick single pieces, putting them back together in an exercise of anthropological cubism.

 _Everyone_ has a saving grace, a sunny day, an involuntary smile. A favourite ice-cream flavour. It is a form of treasure hunting that requires an exceptionally very bad memory, an almost superhuman willingness to bury and forget, to move on. Push through the worst of life, and hope for the best around the corner.

Except, sometimes, the light at the end of the tunnel _is_ a train barrelling towards you.

“My mom-, I mean, my-, Eleanor, she-, she called today, just a bit before you arrived. I think Charlie must’ve overhead and was worried for me.”

Jen tenses under her like she is going to rise, but Judy moves her arm across her stomach, keeping her in place.

 _Shit_.

They are fully draped against each other.

Judy feels where her breasts press against Jen’s chest, the soft skin of Jen’s hip against her stomach, where their t-shirts have ridden up. Only the natural curvature of Judy’s body saves her from the embarrassment of Jen knowing the heat of Judy’s core against her leg.

It would be so easy, Judy thinks: to move against Jen’s thigh; to turn her face, press their lips together.

She blames herself for these stupid thoughts she keeps having; and honestly, once you hit forty, it is not every day you figure something about yourself. But Judy has only just understood the insurmountable gap between knowing she liked women, and knowing what it feels like to _be_ with a woman.

She may not be able to ever turn her back on that.

She forces herself to calm down, to listen to what Jen is asking, there is a hard, protective edge to her voice, “what did Eleanor want? did she say something mean?”

“No, she was, just,” she thinks of how to describe what Eleanor is, or isn’t, to her, “her _usual_ , you know, she asked me for more money, for help with her parole officer, that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Jen nods, “wait, what do you mean _more_ money?”

“I sent her some?”

“Are you asking me?”

Judy tuts lightly, noses Jen’s neck, burying her face in Jen’s hair, whines, “she has this _power_ over me. I cannot say no to her.”

“You cannot say no to anyone.”

“But with her it’s worse. I feel like I screwed up her life.”

Jen lets out a long, angry, breath. Moves the hand that is not buried in Judy’s scalp to caress her face, brushing her bangs out of the way so that she can kiss her forehead, “honey, you so didn’t. You make everyone’s lives better,” she gives her another kiss, “you’re the best thing in her fucking poor excuse of a life, alright?”

“Thank you.”

“We really need to practice this saying no shit, Jude.”

“I know. Ugh,” Judy takes a long breath. Maybe it is the wrong time to bring this up, but there are words that burn in her stomach, and she cannot hold them down, even if they scratch her throat on the way out, “but, Jen, the things I’ve _done_. I need to atone, somehow.”

“Atone?”

“Well, there’s this karmic energy flow, a balance really, and I feel like I’m in debt with the universe, because I’ve caused so much pain that-,”

“Fuck _that_ , Judy. You don’t owe shit to the universe. It owes _you_.”

“No,” she whispers, “I mean it’s not always bad, to try to counteract and compensate, I don’t know, what I did with you, insert myself in your life like that, that was so wrong, Jen,” she shakes her head, “but then, when I told you, about Ted, and with how you-, I was so worried, because I love you so much, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done-,”

“I was terrible to you, Judy, I’m so sorry,” Jen interrupts. She is ashamed of herself, of how she had spiraled out of control.

“No, no, I totally deserved that, but to be honest, it felt good, to come clean, even if it meant you’d know I’ve destroyed your life.”

“Judy, no,” she hisses, “Ted threw himself at the car because of what _I_ said to him.”

“You don’t know that.”

Judy can feel Jen’s agitation, her body tensing under hers, “right, were you driving on the sidewalk? Why would he _be_ on the road, Judy?”

Judy rubs Jen’s arm lightly, she had not wanted to upset her, she should have kept quiet, “maybe he was crossing, or got distracted, or-,”

“Maybe I’m a shitty, hateful person who pushes the people I love into committing suici-,”

Judy covers her mouth with her hand, “shut up. What happened to Ted, _I_ did it. Me and Steve. What I was about to do, that was on _me_. You were right and righteous in everything you said to me, Jen. _None_ of it was your fault.”

Jen tries to speak under her palm, “shut the fuck up, Jen. It _wasn’t_.”

Judy still does not understand how Jen has been able to forgive her, but she is not enough of a good person to question _that_. Not out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She feels Jen deflate under her, as she starts to cry. Judy moves her hand to cup her face, “Judy, you’re the best person I know, and I’m so sorry I’ve dragged you with me-,”

“I’ve gone willingly,” Judy whispers, “every step of the way. And, you should know that I’d go again,” Jen looks at her like she knows of the impossibility of it all.

Like she believes her.

Judy gives her a crooked smile, “hey, I’m _your_ _person_ , right?”

Jen lets out a sob, “fuck.” She grabs Judy so hard, she thinks she will have bruises in the morning, where Jen’s fingers are digging into her skin.

“Just don’t go killing any more of my abusive, mafia-linked, ex-fiancés,” she whispers as Jen hiccups against her. She moves one finger down Jen’s face, making a line across her forehead, down her nose and lips, to her chin, “that’s where I draw the line.”

Jen rolls her eyes, grateful for Judy’s humour, her gentleness so at odds with Jen’s own character, “they’re safe so long as they don’t kill any of my cheating husbands.”

Judy looks at Jen, eyes kind, her hand moving to dry the tears first on one cheek, then, the other. When she is done, she uses that hand to pull Jen’s face closer, kisses her cheek and burrows into her, hugging Jen more fully.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Jude,” Jen breathes, “so much.”

She wants to say, _I need you_.

Jen knows she needs Judy more than Judy needs her, and she wants to draw a contract in blood and tears that binds them together, like this, for time unknown, but she is feeling too raw to continue this conversation.

It is a while until they speak again.

“Don’t fucking fall sleep, Judy. You’ll make me watch this documentary again, claiming you missed the end, and I’ve seen it three times already.”

“Amn’t,” Judy says, followed by a snore.

“Right, great.”

Then, Jen regards her and smiles. She gives her forehead a kiss, and then another, and another, and maybe, she allows her lips to linger.

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Judy wrings her hands nervously as she paces around the kitchen.

It is totally not a big deal. No biggie. Zero need for drama. It means nothing.

Zilch.

Nada.

 _Less_ than that.

It is a negative amount of fucks Judy gives.

“What is less than nothing, Charlie?” she asks.

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you guys learning imaginary numbers at school?”

“Huh?”

Jen rolls her eyes, “yes, it’s _all_ imaginary,” she says sharply, tugging at the cord of Charlie’s earbuds, as she glares at him, “particularly, the learning.”

Charlie coughs to pretend he is not smiling, “ouch,” he whines when a sharper tug makes the earbuds pop out.

“ _That_ didn’t hurt,” Jen says out of the corner of her mouth, eyes on Judy.

Charlie and Henry are also looking at Judy, as she paces back and forth in front of the kitchen isle, the three of them first row spectators to a one-woman tennis match.

They are all _staring_ , sitting at various spots around the kitchen isle, instead of each going their own way after eating dinner, as they usually do. Most nights, only Jen and Judy stay back to clean up and put away the dishes, often sharing a glass of wine in the outside couch to unwind and catch up after a long day.

_That is what they call it anyway._

Charlie is convinced they just giggle and get shit-faced together, watching bad television.

Jen frowns, distracted by Judy’s increasing weirdness over dinner.

Objectively, weird for Judy is _off the charts_ weird.

_When did this become her life?_

Jen had gone from predictable married-mother-of-two; your run of the mill, mildly depressed, suburban wife with a cheating husband, _all the fucking way_ to crazed, by-proxy black widow, in what felt like two minutes.

She now was the kind of person who drove around their posh neighbourhood in a two-piece suit, armed with her bright red lipstick and a polished realtor smile… in a Mercedes that hid a body-burying shovel in the hatch; so, _yes_ , a sociopath.

And Judy Hale is right at the centre of it all: cause, and effect.

The unexpected eye of the tornado. The enzyme that had precipitated Jen’s unravelling.

When Jen is being honest with herself, which is not often, she knows she had been on the cusp of it for years; had only needed the smallest of nudges.

Jen rolls her eyes at, well, _her life_ , really.

Still, she is increasingly sure that she would not want to change the past.

It got her _here_.

To this precise moment in time and space. This kitchen, with Judy acting weird, and their children around them, _present_ , wanting to be part of whatever is going on.

To a family that feels _earned_ ; loved and loving.

Judy is the colourful thread that stiches all of them together, and Jen can admit she wants this to be her life more than she wants to not be a murderer, a widow, the shittiest person this side of Laguna.

This impasse feels so natural: like it is where her whole life has been headed, so much so, that it is already ingrained into her brain. Truthfully, most days, Jen can no longer remember how things were before Judy and her daily roller-coaster of emotions.

Judy who has spent the better part of dinner distracted and sending messages with her mobile phone, even though mobile phones are no longer allowed during meals, which, incidentally, is a rule Judy herself had timidly suggested, and Jen happily enforced. Before Judy, Jen had been quite in favour of anything that would distract the children from her awful cooking and awkward attempts at braiding the strings of their lives together.

But tonight, Judy had become increasingly upset about the messages that keep pinging her phone.

She almost jumps when she reads the one that just lights up her phone screen.

“Judy, what the fuck.”

“Oh, it’s really nothing,” she smiles, waving her hand in the air as she looks down at the phone, and immediately, winces. 

Jen wonders if Judy’s tells have always been _this_ obvious.

_How the fuck did she lie to me for months?_

But, no, the real question is, _how far up your ass was your head, exactly?_

Judy looks at her from under her bangs, seeing the attitude building behind Jen’s eyes, that urge to take charge and punch first that Jen can barely restrain, and she knows she is going to have to come clean, sooner rather than later.

She lets out a long breath, gives a tremulous smile, “you remember how I volunteered to collaborate with the Christmas celebrations at the town hall?”

“Bad idea,” Jen nods before she knows what this is about, convinced nothing good can come out of Judy’s universe-energy-balancing rubbish initiatives, but her shoulders drop unconsciously, tension uncoiling now that Judy is talking.

“It’s for the community. It’ll help our karma,” Judy defends, voice pitching a bit higher.

“My point, exactly.”

“Whatever, Jen. That’s not the thing. Look,” she points accusingly at her phone, and then, shows it to her and Charlie, who are seated side by side across from her. She covers the side of the phone with her other hand, to hide the screen from Henry, who is seated to her side.

The kitchen isle is between Judy and Jen.

Jen rolls her eyes. “Do you really expect me to see that? I don’t have supernatural eyesight powers,” Jen elbows Charlie when he coughs something that sounds suspiciously like, “ _mole_.”

“Thick glasses are super fashionable, mom.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Can we focus?” Judy interrupts, wanting to get the conversation back on track now that she is in confession mode. “There’s this bit, kind of a spoof, really. I mean, it’s like no big deal _at all_.”

“Judy.”

“To raise donations theyauctionkiz,-” and whatever else she says is an unintelligible mumble.

“Judy.”

“Kiss! They auction a kiss, it’s the typical mistletoe thing, you know?” she asks.

Jen, Henry and Charlie all nod, like muppets on a string, as if they understand what she is talking about, “and, you see, it seems, coincidentally, that _I_ was the youngest person who signed up,” she frowns at Jen’s _I told you so_ look, eyebrows drawing together, “by some twenty years, so of course, they’d pick me, right? And usually, the police department gives 1,000$ as an incentive, and they donate the money anyway, of course, but, you see, if nobody bids higher, the kiss-, it goes to the police department-, kinda like, representative, and well, I didn’t check who, and you may say there’s this totally fortuitous mix of happenstan-,”

“ _Judy_!”

“I’m going to have to kiss Pérez.”

“The hell?”

“I _know_ ,” Judy cringes, “I mean, her hair is amazing, right? and her-,” and from what Judy mimics with her hands, and the way she blushes, Jen is not sure if she means her tits, hips, butt, or _all_ of it.

Admittedly, there is a _lot_ going on with Pérez.

“I mean, she _must_ be a leo, right?”

Jen opens her mouth, but only a puff of air comes out. Fish out of water.

Judy is still talking, “she has this _vibe_ ,” and she fakes a shiver as she licks her lips, expression turning somewhat dreamily, “like totally, dominatr-,”

“Maybe someone else will bid?” interrupts Jen, before Judy can clarify what else she likes about Pérez and scar the children for life. 

Judy hesitates, “well, maybe, I mean, sure, but it’s a lot of money, and I don’t know anyone who would-,” her voice trails off as she frowns, the corners of her mouth dropping, “I could never ask-, not for-, I mean, surely not for _me_.” There was a time when Judy could not have dreamed of that much money, let alone ask someone for it. “It’s just a kiss, right? Like, it’s super fine.”

“You could kiss mom!” Henry suggests with a big grin, turning to Jen, “mom, you just sold that big house, right?”

“No.”

“Totally.”

Jen and Charlie answer at the same time.

“What?” asks Jen, looking at Judy and then at Charlie, who is giving her this annoyingly broad grin, both eyebrows up, “shut up, Char.”

“C’mon, mom,” Henry says, pleadingly, “you gotta help Judy.”

“Yeah, c’mon, mom,” Charlie repeats, his tone quite different from his brother, “it’s kinda genius, right? help her, help you,” he mutters the last part.

“Charlie, _butt out_ ,” she hisses out of the corner of her mouth, for only him to hear, then, she turns to Henry, smiles at her kind, sweet boy, “Boop, why don’t you go up with Judy and get ready for bed?”

Once Judy and Henry are on their way upstairs, she grabs Charlie’s ear, “the evil offspring and I will finish cleaning up here.”

“Ow,” Charlie’s laugh turns into a moan when Jen _pulls_.

Her fate is almost sealed, though.

Henry gets upset even at the thought that she will not help Judy, and she is no longer in the business of disappointing her children.

xxx

The auction gets on Jen’s last nerve, but she _will_ be patient.

She promised Judy.

An over-eager twenty-something Michelle-look alike _child_ that Judy introduced as a new work colleague, and a sleazy-looking guy who Jen is sure has been checking her out, raise the bid to $465, by small increments of less than $50 each time, and Jen can see her whole Christmas break being spent at this event, if they do not speed things up.

There is a bit of a rustle nearby, and she turns to see Detective Pérez standing next to her, as she pops something into her mouth.

Jen tilts her head at her.

Pérez raises an eyebrow and reaches into her pocket, offering something to Jen.

“Mint?”

“$2,500,” rings Jen’s voice, loud and clear.

Do not ask her why she had to raise the bid that high, because her cheeks are flaming red with every single pair of eyes in the room turned her way.

She kisses Judy under the mistletoe.

Judy is apologizing and telling her she should not have bid so high, and only shuts up when Jen grabs her and plants a warm kiss on her lips. Slips her some tongue, too, when Judy gasps into the kiss, lips parting in surprise.

When she lets go, Jen gives the finger to whoever catcalls in the audience.

Hours later, when she removes her makeup, Jen’s cheeks are still pink.

Judy’s face all the way home reminds Jen of a startled baby deer. 

_Shit._

Judy really liked that. 

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Jen only says it because _she’s had a day_.

Of course, it is _no_ excuse, and Jen hates herself for it later, but once the words are out, she cannot call them back into her mouth.

It is a question of timing, really. The leads and the lags of life.

Jen understands the _need_ for broadcast delay; sometimes wishes she were born with it.

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling.

_You dumb bitch, it’s called thinking before speaking, for fuck’s sake._

Yeah, whatever. Just give her ten seconds to listen to what comes out of her mouth before it _fucking airs_.

“Judy, honey,” she whispers, hours later, “I didn’t mean that,” and she offers her hand, palm up, half-way to where Judy is seated, hoping Judy will grab it.

“It’s okay,” Judy smiles as she reaches for her wine glass instead.

Jen flinches and retracts her hand, moving it first to her chest, and then, to rub her forehead as she puts her own glass of wine down on the counter.

Maybe the breath that she lets out sounds like, “ _fuck_.”

xxx

It had started as such a good day, too.

With the children staying over with Lorna for the weekend and plans for Judy and her to just drink wine, treat themselves to as much unhealthy take-out food as Jen could convince Judy to order, and doing absolutely nothing but lounge around by the pool all weekend.

Jen had even bought herself a proper swimsuit, given the unseasonably hot winter they were having. It was a flattering fit, with a cut that revealed a bit of side boob and a lot about the shape and unnatural perkiness of her breasts. She had almost convinced herself she may actually _wear_ it.

Of course, it could not stay like that.

“Jennifer, may I see you in my office?”

Jen had been on her way out, ready to make it home to Judy, maybe pick her up for a late lunch, as a surprise early start to their Friday; head so full of plans that she had smiled genuinely as she sat down across from Lorna, “these flowers are beautiful.”

Lorna had smiled, reaching absentmindedly to move the flower arrangement slightly away from Jen, “they are, aren’t they? They are petunias from my lawn. I keep telling you to call Manuel to help with the gardening,” and she had winked at Jen in that overly exaggerated way of hers, “he really is... _muy excelente_.”

Jen had studiously ignored the wink and its implication, “oh, hell, _no_ ,” and miraculously, for the next few minutes, it had seemed like the meeting was going to be just business.

It was the last week Jen was going to work with Lorna, and she thought they had discussed all the details of the Wood’s state.

“It is quite unfortunate that her son Benjamin died in that car accident,” Lorna lamented, “drunk driving, I believe,” she shook her head, “well, at least he wrapped the car around a tree, and not someone like _my_ Teddy.”

“Hmmm,” Jen only nodded, quite willing to cede _entire_ ownership of Ted to Lorna. 

There was a pang of something unpleasant in Jen’s stomach at the mention of Ben. She _had_ liked him. It had all been so confusing, those few weeks, the constant tension of running two steps behind Charlie’s shenanigans, with Michelle threatening the foundation under the shaky ground of their lives, and then, Ben. He had been a _respite._

Someone finally, finally, finding _her_ attractive, someone who did not know about all the baggage, all the suffering behind the curtains and under the rugs.

She had thought, for a moment, she could be Ben’s Jen. The woman he saw.

It had taken Jen just one night to understand you cannot run away from yourself.

Ben had crashed his car in the highway six weeks ago, before the holidays, instantly dead. Detective Pérez had informed them that he had also been responsible for their very own hit-and-run, just hours prior.

Jen was trying not to be so angry about everything anymore, and so she just breathed deeply, attempting to clear her mind of all thought, praying quickly to a god she did not believe in that the fucking death toll would finally fucking end, once and for all.

“Her poor mother was devastated,” Lorna frowned, annoyed with how that had affected her, “terrible for business, you see, that much tragedy. It lowers the value of the house, once buyers hear about it. I had to sell it faster than I would have wanted,” she scrunched up her nose like she was thinking of an unpleasant smell, “at a not-insignificant discount.”

“Quite a loss for you, I’m sure,” Jen said when the silence stretched between them, and she started to gather her purse, ready to call it a working life, “and, on that uplifting note-.”

“Yes, anyway, that is not really what I wanted to talk about. Here,” Lorna said, passing her a business card.

Jen had sat on the edge of the chair throughout their talk, because _this is Lorna_. But even knowing it, even with her defence mode activated, Lorna managed to sucker punch her so hard it pushed her all the way back into her seat, tears stinging her eyes before she could compose herself, lift her chin back up.

“What’s-,” Jen went silent as she regarded the card, of a Dr. Jada Gonzalez, specialized in plastic surgery and dermatology, “here it goes,” she mumbled under her breath as she placed the card back on the table, pushing it towards Lorna with her index finger.

“It’s my plastic surgeon, also, a nutritionist. _Very_ professional. You should give her a call, Jennifer. You have put on a bit of weight since you turned fifty, haven’t you? Nobody likes a woman with orange-peel skin, or with saggy boobs,” and Lorna had looked critically at her chest, the fingers of both hands touching lightly as she leaned forward on her elbows, shark smile in place, almost approving, “although, as I understand, you already took care of _that_ ,” and then, she frowned, eyes as sharp as her tongue, “of course, you had to go entirely overboard with it, as only _you_ can. Ted was so disappointed in you.”

Jen was still trembling when she got in the car.

She let out a scream that was mostly a sob.

 _Fuck you, Ted_.

Mood ruined, she decided to go home directly and wait for Judy there, getting started on a glass of vodka, _or three_.

xxx

So, sue her, Jen is an asshole with anger management issues ninety percent of the time anyway, but she is also halfway to depressed drunk by the time Judy makes it home, for whatever reason, the half-glass she has drank hitting harder than usual.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Judy says jokingly as she practically skips into the kitchen.

It is almost cartoonish, the way Judy shifts gears mid-motion; forever attuned to Jen’s every mood, immediately understanding the night has gotten started without her, “alrighty,” she drawls under her breath, the vowels elongating as she adds together Jen, the obvious dark cloud over her head, and the bottle of clear liquor, and comes up with, “what’s wrong.”

She approaches Jen slowly, hands in front of her, conscious of the wildness that beats under Jen’s breast, of how, sometimes, rage and pain and grief can get away from her, making her lash out at unsuspecting bystanders.

Jen’s fury collateral damages often hurt her more than anyone else, but Judy carries a few scars from it, too. She knows how hard Jen works at reeling it in. How upset and disappointed in herself she is when it gets away from her.

She makes eye contact and sees the red eyes, the crystal clearness that speaks both of tears shed and waiting to fall, and breathes through her nose as quietly as she can, “Jen?”

“No,” Jen tilts her head back to prevent any more tears from escaping, “everything’s good,” she sniffs, “better than good. God, I don’t know why I’m being such a wuss. I’m so pathetic.”

“Hey,” Judy whispers as her hand reaches to caress her arm.

“No, no,” Jen shakes her head, pulls her arm from under Judy’s hand, “it’s our weekend of fun, okay?”

Judy shrugs, “we can still start it by crying a little,” she says gently, smiling a bit.

Jen snorts and rubs her face, removing all trace of tears, “no way, Judy. You know what? _fuck Lorna_ ,” she mumbles fiercely, “she’s not spoiling _our_ plans. Here, have some of this, too,” she serves her a large glass of vodka and pushes it into her hand, tries to change the subject, “I was thinking, take-out?”

Judy allows the change of subject, accepts the drink and takes a small sip.

She grimaces, “wow, this is strong.”

“Right,” Jen nods once, “that’s the fucking point.”

“Hmmm, take-out, huh?” Judy walks to the fridge, regarding its contents for a moment.

Since Judy lives with them, Jen’s fridge has become this _jungle_ of fruits and vegetables. As far as Jen knows, there could be fucking monkeys living in there.

Judy turns towards her, pointing with the finger that is holding the glass, “now, tell me the truth. You just don’t want me to cook my world-renown vegan chickpea salad specialty.”

“World-renown-,” Jen frowns, “it’s fucking cauliflower in disguise.”

“It’s very tasty.”

“It stinks up the house, Judy,” she whines, her stomach almost rebelling just at the thought.

Judy laughs and moves back around the kitchen isle, pressing herself tentatively against Jen’s side. Jen allows the contact this time, leaning into her, and Judy knows it is okay to put her arm around her shoulders, hugging Jen to her body. Jen always smells so nice, feels so warm. It is addictive, “just because I like you so much, we can order some Indian take-out,” she kisses Jen’s temple, nuzzling her hair as she talks out of the side of her mouth, “I’ll save the cauliflower for when Charlie’s home, how’s that.”

Jen smiles widely, “he hates it.”

Judy smiles beatifically.

Jen laughs at the thought, delighted that Judy is starting to realize that a fun part of co-parenting the boys is that they get to embarrass and tease them gently.

She reaches around Judy’s waist, moving the glass of vodka to her left hand, and pulls on Judy until she is almost on her lap, already feeling much better. “Indian it is,” then she moves her head a bit away, to make eye contact, wrinkling her nose, “you’re going to order that cauliflower, the extra spicy thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s called aloo gobi, and I _am_ ,” Judy drops her voice and gives Jen as much of a once over as she can, given how close they are, “you know me, I love hot stuff.”

Jen rolls her eyes, “how do you manage to insert innuendo into everything?”

“Must be the company, baby,” Judy flirts, and pinches Jen’s side lightly, happy to see Jen smile. She only realizes, after she has done it, how ticklish Jen’s side is, and also, how close her hand had been to Jen’s breast, because Jen flinches sidesway in reaction to the pinch, and then, gives a full body shiver, when Judy quite unintendedly gets a handful of boob.

And look, if Judy squeezes her fingers a bit, it is an involuntary muscle spam.

Jen fumbles the glass, some of the alcohol dripping down her hand, “shit, Judy, can you let go of my tit?”

Judy laughs, eyes kind, as she steps away, giving her boob a second squeeze, “excuse me, sister Jennifer,” and she winks, to further annoy Jen, “c’mon, let’s move the inappropriate groping outside, it’s nice and warm.”

“Excuse you, what did you call me?” Jen asks, “sister Jennifer?” She might not have the sexual drive that Judy has, but _who has it?_ she is not a prude, or whatever Judy is implying.

Judy only shrugs, “well, if the habit fits,” she reaches for the phone, dialling their favourite Indian restaurant.

She regards Jen as she puts in their order, “done,” she smiles.

Jen is still frowning at her, making her feel like she needs to explain, so she whistles a bit between her teeth, “I mean, just admit it, your staying power is kind of impressive.”

She is _not_ going to get into how Jen told her that her husband had not touched her for _years_ , and Jen had not even been suspicious of a mistress. And, rationally, she knows part of it was about how bad Jen was feeling about her body, but Judy cannot stop thinking that if _she_ was married to a woman half as hot as Jen, she would not be able to keep her hands off her.

It is a struggle as it is.

 _Shit_.

She lets out a long breath.

Geez, she is going to make herself horny.

Speaking of the world’s _shortest_ staying power. _Let’s rein those thoughts in, shall we?_

She does a little jiggle in place, and turns her back on Jen, intent on putting together some snack that can soak the alcohol Jen has drank, and that they can eat while they wait for the take-out to arrive; something small that will not ruin their appetite.

Jen looks on as Judy works, thinking about what she said, until she _gets it_ , “oh, you mean, _staying power_ , because Ted and I-,” she frowns, “we didn’t have sex for a while, when-,” Jen slams her glass down with some force, surprising Judy, who turns around, making eye contact across the kitchen isle as Jen allows the words to slip uncensored, “well, you can’t really speak, Judy. I mean _you don’t know_ what it’s like having a husband of almost twenty years and two children, now do you?”

“And don’t get me started on what giving birth does to the body,” Jen grabs at her non-existing love handles, still mentally trying to defend herself to Lorna, not really listening to anything she’s saying, “it’s not like _you_ can know this, but giving birth kills the libido.”

And Judy only blinks at her because she is so fucking good at it.

At bouncing back from whatever live throws her way.

She absorbs the burn of the words like a crashing car folding into itself, with barely a puff of warm air leaving her mouth as her chest caves in with the blow.

 _No_.

Jen is right.

She really knows _nothing_ about _any_ of that.

Jen often thinks Judy is the strongest person she knows. It is like she has pistons of steel moving a heart that pumps fucking rainbows of light instead of blood, covered over in so much velvet that Judy is like a stuffed version of herself. Mirrors and smoke behind a smile that is only rarely a grimace. 

But Jen is still seated at Lorna’s office, feeling like she could strangle her, and then go out and crash her car into the office of the doctor that had done her double mastectomy, and so, she does not really process any of it.

She sees it. Catches the minute way Judy’s eyes pull back and the corners of her mouth drop. How she hides, for an instant, behind her bangs as she dips her head, covering her expression.

Jen sees it because she has taken to staring at Judy the whole fucking time, but she has the thickest head in Laguna, and so it does not _register_.

It would be easy to miss because it is just there, and then gone, lasting only a couple of seconds, Judy already forcing herself to move through the moment.

She gives Jen a quiet laugh that is only a notch deeper than her usual, makes a gesture with her hand as if she is wiping imaginary sweat from her brow and pushing the thought away from her, and says, voice balanced like an equilibrist in a tightrope, “yeah, pffff, totally, I cannot imagine what that’d be like.”

Like having a partner and giving birth to two children would be hard on anyone, and not exactly _the one thing she has wanted her whole life_.

And the things Judy wants are so easy.

So simple.

So what _everyone gets to have_.

A mother.

A partner.

A baby.

When it catches up with her, it makes Jen want to claw her eyes out that she knows this about Judy and she still has such a big mouth that she trampled all over her feelings.

Jen herself had two sons before she even really thought about whether she actually wanted children with Ted and a house with a yellow door in his home town.

She also had a loving mother. So, so loving, in fact, that she can now admit that losing her had derailed her life for years. It had also given her a backbone of strength and kindness, a core fortitude and depth of generosity that had sustained her for even longer, keeping her afloat when she had been treading water, asphyxiated in the swamp of the dark years with Ted, head barely above the tide.

Jen is so angry she feels herself vibrate with it, that Judy would dream of _fucking stupid shit_ that Jen has always dismissed as givens, and still, _not_ get it.

“ _Fuck_.”

In her defence, in Jen’s experience, people want useless, material, things. They desire what they see every day, things small and large, like a car, or a new laptop, if you are Charlie. Or whimsical, impossible things, like a bird father if you are Henry. And Jen is alright with both of those because she can provide for the former, and she is confident Henry will turn out just fine without the latter.

Jen, herself? she wants… she wants Judy and her sons to be happy.

Maybe, sometimes, in precisely that order.

Judy regularly reminds her of the children when they were younger, in how she goes full out even when running on empty, caring for others so much that she fails to realize she has completely exhausted herself. Up to the moment when she has nothing left to give, and abruptly, the light switches off, and she just goes silent, batteries off.

It does not happen often, because the well of goodness Judy draws from is almost bottomless, but she is a _human_ angel, after all.

Jen watches as Judy deflates throughout the afternoon, nursing the pain from her words like a little sparrow with an injured wing.

The light dimming in Judy’s eyes, and the way she starts to visibly curl in on herself, are finally enough to wake Jen up, as she mentally rewinds until _finally_ , she hears what she said.

“Oh, no,” she springs from where she is lounging on their outside couch, sitting random straight, eyes wide, “fuck, shit, fucking fuck.”

It is telling how much Judy is already out of it, lost inside her own head and on the brick of shut down, that Jen’s outburst does not even earn a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean-,” her voice comes so low it sounds like a growl, and she has to cough to clear her throat, “shit, I didn’t mean that, Judy, about you not knowing, _fuck_.”

That gets Judy to look up, finally on the same page.

Judy is not upset, just defeated.

Wanting, hoping. Some days, it takes a toll.

Maybe she should be over _all_ of it.

 _Done_.

But she is not.

She is _not_.

And hope scratches the backs of her eyes.

There are needles piercing at her chest from inside, and for a moment, it is hard to breath. She finally shrugs one shoulder and rises from the sofa, “let’s clear this up,” she says tonelessly, and starts cleaning up the table, taking the leftovers from their take-out to the kitchen.

“No, wait, Judy,” Jen follows behind, “I’m sorry, okay?”

She does not bother to help, leaving the mess behind. This is more important.

“I’m-, I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me, Jude. I just-, I’ve been feeling off, and just-, I-, I had a shitty morning,” she touches Judy’s arm lightly, trailing behind her, hoping she will stop, turn around; but Judy is moving, maybe intentionally pulling away from her, and Jen grabs at the air; stops. Breathes deeply. Tries to push the rising panic to the bottom of her stomach.

Fuck, _she’s really screwed up_.

She chases after Judy, going around the kitchen isle, “and that’s _not_ an excuse, I know. I’m a shitty friend, I’m sorry, Judy, I _am_.”

“It’s fine,” Judy finally says.

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Jen almost shouts, making Judy flinch, “fuck, I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and adds, much softer, voice cracking, “it’s not fine, _please_ , Jude.”

Judy is not good at accepting apologies because everything is her fault all the time.

“You can be mad at me, you _should_ be mad at me,” Jen urges, her lower lip trembling, “I’m fucking mad at me,” she cannot stand it when Judy pushes her away, gives her the silent treatment. She wants Judy to shout at her, hit her, do something.

Judy plops down in the nearest seat at the kitchen isle, trying not to make things worse for herself, for Jen.

Mostly, she is just tired, tired of hoping, of carrying with her this desire for what can never happen, and this woman is the person she loves most in the world, so she makes herself say it, “I’m just tired, Jen.”

“Fuck, Jude,” and her voice trembles because she knows she has hurt her, and it pains her, “come here,” she says, and opens her arms.

Judy lurches forward in her seat, like her first reaction is to launch herself at Jen, but stays put, picks her glass up and sips at her wine, fingers white against the glass, “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Jen frowns, “I swear to god, Judy, if you let me go to bed thinking I’ve upset you, I’m going to have to drunk drive over to Lorna’s at 2 a.m. this morning, and strangle her in her sleep with her stupid petunias.”

That makes Judy look up, “that seems incredibly specific.”

“Don’t _even_ get me started,” Jen rolls her eyes, “come the fuck here, Jude.”

Judy rubs her eyes, and stands up slowly, moving into Jen’s arms. Jen hugs her tightly for a long time. They just stand there, pressed together in this twilight of disappointments, for time unknown. When Judy moves her arms around her waist, taking a tiny step closer, Jen exhales. Exhales, and exhales, because it means that Judy has forgiven her.

She lets her hands move over Judy’s back and shoulders, caressing her lightly, rubbing their cheeks together, and in her relief, kisses Judy’s neck, her ear, her cheek, her temple, the corner of her mouth, giving her a kiss that catches more lips than cheek. Judy tastes of salt, of the tears Jen has caused.

She shifts in Jen’s arms and trembles when Jen kisses her again, almost fully on the mouth.

“Is it stupid?” she asks, softly, “that I still _want_ this much?”

“Oh, honey, it’s not,” Jen tries to reassure her, and when Judy’s breath hitches, she knows she has started crying again. “You deserve everything that is good, Jude,” she pulls her closer with one arm around her shoulders and rises her other hand to dry her cheek, guides her face up and kisses her lips softly, “ _everything_.”

That night, Jen pulls Judy upstairs, cannot bear to be apart.

They fall in Jen’s bed in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs, Jen pulling Judy into her body, shaky with the relief to have Judy there.

Jen feels sleep pulling her towards unconsciousness almost as soon as they settle down in bed. Body and mind exhausted.

“You have it worse than I ever did,” Jen whispers as she burrows her face into Judy’s neck, pressing her into the mattress.

“Do I?” Judy asks, Jen’s weight suffocating in the best of ways.

“Hmmm,” Jen mumbles against her skin, kissing her neck lightly, half asleep already, “you’ve got yourself an idiot wife and two children.”

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

4.

When Jen gets home, her swimming pool looks like the fucking community pool.

There is Lorna sitting primly at the table, large dark sunglasses on.

Everyone else is keeping a minimum of ten feet distance from her. Henry and Shandy are digging around the backyard, and Jen tries to ignore the little voice that tells her they may be looking for the dead bird. Christopher is talking to Karen over the fence, showing her Adele’s new checkered coat. Charlie is seated in one of the lounge chairs, pretending to be on his phone to ignore Lorna’s attempts at conversation.

“Right,” she says, “what’s going on?”

Charlie shrugs, so Jen moves into the house.

She is out with all of them one minute later, “you could’ve told me she was cooking the cauliflower,” she hisses at Charlie, as she passes by him.

Charlie does not try to hide his smirk.

_When did he join her side?_

Jen is proud of the way Charlie has grown up in the last few months. It is uncanny how much he seems to get her. His humour so in line with her own. She has started to think of him as someone she may soon be able to lean on a bit.

“Lorna,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” and her tone clearly conveys how much of the opposite is true.

“Charlie called me, he wanted to have lunch with me today.” Lorna is unflappable. It is a trait that Jen admires.

Jen turns to him, hands on hips. Charlie calling Lorna still a sore point between them.

He points back with his thumb, eyes clear, lesson fully learnt, “c’mon, mom, you smelt _that_.” 

Which, _fair_.

“Can we go with grandma just for lunch?” he pleads, “please?”

“Very well,” she relents, but Jen cannot let this go without riling him up a bit, giving him some of his own medicine. Well, _mommies are allowed to be petty_ , “actually, Lorna, you can have the children until Sunday. Starting immediately. They’ve got plenty of their stuff at your place, right?” and the smile she is giving Lorna turns real when she hears Charlie groan behind her.

Christopher sneaks between them just then, “and I’ll drive Shandy home, I mean,” he coughs, “if the kids are going to have lunch with their grandmother, we can just reschedule Adele’s lunch date for another week,” he sniffs the air and makes a face, covering Adele’s snout. “Preferably, one when whatever your better half is cooking doesn’t smell like it died a week ago in unfortunate circumstances,” he hisses.

Jen only raises her eyebrows at him, ignoring the dramatic way he is waving towards Shandy with one hand, while he presses the puppy to her face, as he singsongs, as Adele, “auntie Jen, give me a goodbye kiss.”

Jen rubs Adele’s soft fur. “This may work on me,” she says, because the alternative, which is to have Judy _all_ to herself, is actually her default preference, “but Adele’s cuteness won’t save you from Judy’s disappointed doe eyes,” she warns him.

He looks at the kitchen door, suddenly shifty eyed, “quick, Shandy, let’s make a clean break for the car.”

“Shandy lives literally across the road,” Jen points.

“Well, I know _that_ ,” Christopher says, nose rising up in the air, in that annoying way he has, “but there may be strange men lurking around.”

Shandy nods seriously.

“Who’s going to save whom from those, exactly?”

“It’s ok, Ms. Harding,” Shandy says, grabbing his hand, “I like him,” and she looks at him and then at Jen, and frowns slightly, “do you think that reveals a flaw in my character?”

That surprises a laugh out of Jen, “Shandy, you’re my favourite out of all of Henry’s friends,” she looks at Charlie, and mentally moves Shandy up in the ranking of their acquaintances, “favourite friend of _any_ son, actually.”

“Oh.” They all turn to see Judy at the door. She is wearing a colourful apron full of sunflowers, and Jen wonders for a second when she bought that and why it fits her so well, both literally and figuratively. Judy is carrying a chilled bottle of white wine, protecting her hand with an equally flowery kitchen towel.

Judy places the bottle on the table, smiling slightly at Lorna, before turning towards Jen and Christopher, “didn’t you want to stay for lunch, Chris?” she asks, confused. They had agreed to have Saturday lunch together. “I’m actually trying a new recipe.”

“Judy!” he smiles weakly as he swallows, “there’s been, an-, how would you call it?” he starts pulling Shandy towards the car, walking with his back random straight, trying not to make eye contact by looking at a spot just above Judy’s head, “yes, a change of plans, one may say. Jen can explain, right, Jen? Come on, Shandy, dear, let’s get out of their hair, shall we?”

Lorna also ushers the children towards the car and nods her goodbyes, all of them departing in quick succession, “Jennifer.”

“Lorna.”

Jen wishes she could hate her.

In all honesty, Lorna ranks two in the very short list of people Jen would run to if she needed help. There are miles of space between number one and two in that list, but still, it does not change the fact that, for all her thorns, Lorna is reliable, has supported her _when_ it mattered, in ways that _mattered_. Lorna has given her money, employment, even shared her fucking fentanyl with her. She is a terrible narcissist, a live version of Disney’s Cruella, _sans_ the coat made of puppies, but Jen knows that Lorna loves the children.

In fact, Jen is almost certain that Lorna also loves _her_ , in her own awful, twisted way.

She rubs her temples wearily.

She may love Lorna back.

“Fuck me,” Jen groans.

“Anytime, good looking,” Judy whispers from just behind her, making her jump.

“Jesus, fuck,” Jen says as she turns, “don’t sneak up on me like that. I swear, you’re going to give me a heart condition.”

Judy bats her lashes at her, swatting at her ass with the kitchen towel, “if you’re getting heart palpitations around me it may mean something else. What are the symptoms? Is it happening when I’m wearing low cut tops?”

Jen gives her the finger as she looks around them. In less than two minutes, her backyard has cleared completely of people. Jen catches a sniff of the air coming from the kitchen.

“Judy, close the fucking door.”

xxx

Judy looks because she may be an angel on earth, but she has _eyes_.

They are lounging by the swimming pool, that afternoon, after they get rid of the cauliflower when Jen must rush to the toilet, when the smell of it hits her as she enters the kitchen. It takes a while of Judy apologizing profusely and promising _never_ to make it again, with long explanations about how broccoli is just as good for them and nowhere near as toxic smelling, before Jen can get Judy to relax and join her in the lounge chairs.

Jen has donned the black full body swimsuit she bought a couple of weeks ago. Judy is in a dark red bikini that somehow covers more than Jen’s swimsuit, and _trying_ to keep her eyes on the book she is reading, "Failing Forward: Turning Mistakes into Stepping Stones for Success."

 _Trying_ being the working word here, because instead, she is staring at the pale skin of Jen’s legs, her little tummy, the freckles on her chest, the downy blonde peach fuzz covering the skin of her upper arms and shoulders.

God, she wants to run her tongue over _all_ of her.

And that tells Judy _exactly_ how many steps she has already skipped when it comes to how she feels for Jen. How truly down the rabbit hole she is.

Love and friendship bubbling over with lust and craving.

She has been struggling with herself lately, because ever since their mistletoe kiss, and particularly, since their disastrous weekend of a couple of weeks ago, when Jen’s words had upset her, and then, Jen had kissed her and dragged her upstairs to sleep tangled up in bed, Jen has become increasingly affectionate.

Judy has slept in Jen’s bed most nights since, with Jen nonchalantly kissing her goodnight almost every night.

It is usually just a quick peck, but sometimes, it is more than one kiss.

Two nights ago, Jen had been on the dark side of drunk. It is not a side they visit often these days, but the push of the past is relentless and sometimes, it catches up with them.

Darkness always brings revelations for Judy. Sharpening the areas where light _remains_. Bringing clarity where none is desired; understanding that hurts more than helps, digging holes into her carefully constructed defences.

For Jen, it had meant that, when the lights were off, she had kissed Judy a bit more insistently, caressing her hair lightly and opening her mouth, letting her tongue lick Judy’s bottom lip.

“Open your mouth, Jude,” she had breathed.

And Judy had been entirely lost.

Lost to the feeling of Jen’s tongue against hers, to the little sounds Jen made, to the press of Jen’s body against hers.

Lost to the pain between her legs.

Judy had touched herself that night, afterwards, under the covers, with Jen’s back pressing into her side.

She had slid her fingers between her legs, and rubbed her clitoris to a shameful orgasm, breathing through her mouth to keep quiet. Then, she had turned on her side, spooning Jen, sweaty forehead pressing into the back of Jen’s neck, sticky fingers grabbing the back of her t-shirt, as she had cried silent tears.

It had felt like the end of the road for Judy.

And it is stupid, really.

Because she is Judy Hale, and princess tales are for the _other_ girls.

Judy knows this. Has known it since before Rania told her, since she used to wait for her mother to _please come back_ , awake all night in the back of their car.

But serendipity: the fortuitous alignment of the planets, brought her to that stretch of road that night, and she had driven right through the worst and the best life could offer. In the midst of it all, she had found _her_ , this remarkable woman who despite knowing almost all of Judy, still wants her in her life.

Jen is, without a doubt, the most beautiful human Judy has ever befriended. She is ridiculously good looking, Hollywood-worthy. But it is not even that, Jen is honest, and generous, and fierce, and compassionate, and loving, and she likes Judy so, so much.

It should be the opposite of a problem, really, that sometimes, Jen wants to kiss Judy a bit.

But Judy _cannot_ bear it.

It must stop.

 _She_ must stop.

Judy needs to put an end to whatever this is. Whatever Jen thinks she is doing and that falls in the realm of what platonic friendship is, because this is _not it_.

xxx

Looking at Jen now, lounging in the sun, relaxed and free of the tensions that seem to always cling to her, Judy is enthralled. Hexed by a spell Jen had never meant to cast.

Judy is not greedy, has never thought of herself as the subject in any sentence where the verb was _deserve_ , but there is this yearning that has awaken and she cannot put to rest.

She wants _in_ Jen’s heart.

“What.”

“What, what.”

“You’re staring,” and Jen smiles at her, because whatever Judy is staring at, it does not make her feel self-conscious. She is safe in Judy’s regard. But if she has a tit falling out, or something weird growing out of her back, Judy really should tell her.

“You’re very distracting,” Judy says, and it sounds like she is confessing to something, the words the usual flirtation that is common between them, but the tone serious.

It makes Jen put down the magazine she is reading. She lowers her sunglasses to regard Judy over the top of them, “how so?”

“With your-,” Judy gestures at _all_ of Jen, “you know, your hotness. I didn’t quite realize the safety hazard insisting you wear your new swimsuit would be,” she frowns, pointing with her finger at the swimming pool as she explains, “it’s good we’re alone, someone could drown in the pool and I’d just be staring at you and not notice.”

Jen rolls her eyes at Judy and pushes her glasses back up.

Judy says many things to try to make her feel better about herself. This insistence that she finds her hot is just one of Judy’s many quirks. “Whatever.”

“Jen.”

“Judy.”

“You know that I mean it, _mean it_ , right?”

“Huh-uh,” Jen says distractedly, back to reading her magazine. “I know you think I could pull any man in a 50-mile radius, Judy. It doesn’t make it true.”

And maybe Judy should explain that she is so unironically _gay_ for Jen, but it is more important that she lets Jen know she truly is magnificent, outside of how Judy feels for her.

“You are drop-dead gorgeous,” Judy says, turning to Jen, feet on the ground, grabbing at Jen’s arm to get her attention, “you could get any man,” she smiles mischievously, as she caresses Jen’s arm lightly, feeling goose bumps raising in the wake of her fingers, “I mean they’re so easy, right? but you could also get most of the women. Did you know Karen asked me if you were bisexual the other day?”

“Gross.”

“ _Jen_ ,” she springs up, hands on hips, casting Jen in shadow, covering the sun, “I cannot believe you’d be so homophobic.”

“Huh?” Jen turns to also sit up, her face inches from Judy’s bare midriff. She takes off her sunglasses, “I’m not!”

“So, you like, _like_ Karen?” Judy smiles, “should I tell her you may be interested?”

“I swear to god, Judy, if you tell Karen-,” her voice trails off as she looks at Judy’s stomach. She lifts her hand and places it at Judy’s hip, tracing her thumb over the skin there.

“Hey!” Judy jumps slightly away, but not enough to dislodge Jen’s touch, “that tickles,” she laughs for a moment, smile dropping as she notices the serious look on Jen’s face.

“Jen, what is-,” she looks down and sees where Jen’s fingers are.

Judy has stretch marks.

Tears well up in her eyes. “I-,” she shrugs, “five times,” she says. “That last time, just before we met, I was five months along,” she takes a long breath, “five-,” and her hand goes out, moving in front of her flat belly, to where her stomach would have ended.

Judy wishes she did not know exactly how many dreams fit into five months.

She feels a tear run down her cheek when Jen places a soft kiss over the faded lines.

xxx

They end up in one of the lounge chairs, snuggled together, Jen’s fingers protectively spread over the lines covering Judy’s hip. Judy’s face pressed into her neck. As the sun starts to set, moving behind their west-facing neighbour, Jen presses her lips to Judy’s nose, pushing a bit, “are you feeling better, baby?” she asks, and her eyes drop to Judy’s lips, intention clear.

It is a pity kiss.

Jen is only trying to comfort her. Ease some of the pain with affection.

Judy turns her face away, pulling away from Jen’s kiss. She has been dreading this conversation, but it is _time_. She takes a big breath and puts a hand on Jen’s upper chest, pressing her back against the cushions, as she moves to sit across from her on the other chair.

“Jen, you’ve got to stop.”

Jen rises slightly, to sit more upright, regarding her. “Stop what?”

“You cannot go on kissing me like this, not when you don’t mean it.”

“What?”

“I know you’re straight, and that this,” Judy moves her finger in the air, pointing between the both of them, “it’s not a big deal to you, but you’re breaking my heart, honey. It’s-,” she looks away for a moment, a slight crack in her brave front, “it’s _not_ just a kiss to me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m-, to be entirely honest, I’m a bit in love with you,” Judy tries not to frown, “only a bit, I swear, and I really-, I like it when you kiss me.” She moves her hands in the air, almost pushing at the air, as if she is trying to make space for the words, like if they can fit between them, maybe once the words are out, they can leave them behind, right here, in the patio. Stop them from following them into the house. She rolls her eyes at her inability to say this right, to convey what Jen’s touch makes her feel, “I _really_ like it, Jen, in a way that is quite different from how I’m sure you intend it.”

“You-, what?” Jen’s eyes go round, “in love?” her voice the softest Judy has ever heard it as she asks, “with me?”

“With you, with your children, with this life you’ve invited me into,” Judy smiles a bit, making a circle with her hand to encompass _all_ of it, “I’ve never had it better, and I don’t want anything else, I promise,” she frowns, “but I _had_ to tell you,” she grabs Jen’s hand, “I feel like I’m taking advantage, accepting your affection.”

Jen opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I’m so sorry,” Judy apologizes, “I know it’s a lot to take in, and you didn’t ask for this.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jen murmurs, “ _fuck_ , Jude.”

“I know,” and she cringes, “ _shit_.” They are twenty years too old for this, for Judy to be in love with her straight best girlfriend, to be drawing little foam hearts in Jen’s coffee.

But here they are, and Judy should have kept quiet, except she really could _not_. Not when Jen's kisses were hurting her, burning her from the outside in, destroying the substratum of what she thought she could live with. “Are we alright,” she whispers, tentative, thumb caressing the soft skin of Jen’s hand.

They have to be, because Judy does not know what she will do if they are not.

“Sure, fine, yeah,” Jen says, and she does not sound alright at all. She opens again her mouth, and frowns, words finally coming to her, “fuck, you’ve scrambled my brains. I was _not_ expecting that. I mean, you said-, Michelle?”

Judy only looks at her gently, allowing Jen to say her bit.

Jen shakes her head, pulls her hand from Judy’s, so she can sit up properly, “you said that she was the first person-, since-, since Steve,” she is so confused, “I mean, you pretty much said you couldn’t see yourself with _me_ ,” and it sounds angry, because anger is reliable, is _the_ feeling Jen can access whenever everything else remains buried and unreachable.

Judy grabs her hand again, gives it a soft kiss, “I don’t know why you’re the only person that believes my lies, Jen,” she whispers.

She stands up, rubs her knuckles over Jen’s face for a moment. “Let’s have some of that fettuccini you really like for dinner, yes?” and she leaves Jen in the lounge chair, going to the studio to change out of her bikini.

Jen is awkward for the rest of the evening, still half in shock and half in a funk about their conversation.

Judy does not put much weight on it. It _is_ strange to have your best friend tell you that she really likes it when you kiss her.

xxx

That night, Judy stays up painting for a bit, does some yoga, tries to calm down, clear her mind. When she finally goes to bed, she manages to fall so deeply asleep, her dream incorporates a phone ringing for almost a full minute before she wakes up. “Uh-hm, shit, what?”

“Judy.”

“Jen? Wha-, is something wrong? Why are you calling at-,” she pulls the phone away from her ear to look at the clock, “3 am?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Judy rolls her eyes and smiles. It is a bit silly, but she is happy that Jen is calling her when she cannot sleep, “well, since I’m also awake _now_ ,” and Jen can almost picture her smile over the phone, “would you like to have some phone sex?”

“Judy,” Jen sighs.

“Sorry, is it too soon for this type of joke?”

“Fuck _that_. Someday I’ll say yes, and what are you going to do?”

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

There is a noise by the entrance to the study, and then, silence.

“Jen?” she pushes the covers off, phone still to her ear.

“I dropped the phone.”

Judy gives a full laugh, “don’t try to beat me at my own game, Jen Harding. I’ve got-.” There is a knock at the door, “wait, someone’s at the door.”

“It’s me.”

“Who’s that?”

“Judy, for fucks’ sake, open the fucking door.”

Judy opens the door, and there is Jen, wearing her plaid pyjama bottoms and a large black shirt that falls off one shoulder, no bra strap visible.

Judy chastises herself. _Why do you have to notice that?_

“Jen.”

“Look, I know I’ve been an idiot,” she shakes her head, “I _am_ an idiot, and I don’t know how to make things right, but I really thought you only saw me as a friend.”

Judy looks at her in surprise, “Friend? Jen, I couldn’t have been more obvious,” she pouts, “I mean, I’ve been hitting on you non-stop, from day one.”

Jen rolls her eyes in frustration, “and _I_ ’ve been kissing you, like every fucking night!”

“Well, yes, but I thought you were just being nice. I mean-,”

Judy has no time to say anything else. Jen grabs her arm and pulls her into her body, taking a step forward and kissing her firmly.

When, after a moment of shock, Judy starts to kiss back, Jen moans into her mouth like she needs _this_ as much as Judy. Jen moves both arms around Judy, bringing their bodies even closer, kissing her with a passion that is almost bruising.

“Whoa,” Judy mumbles against her mouth, trembling with desire. “Are you-,”

And she cannot finish because Jen is kissing her again, kicking the door closed with her leg and pressing her back into the studio, walking them towards the bed.

“Is this real?” Judy asks, and Jen pinches her waist, “ow.”

“It _is_ ,” Jen says between kisses, pawning impatiently at the tie of Judy’s robe with one hand, finally getting it undone and off her with a curse, while clumsily trying to get rid of her own pants, falling a bit into Judy, "oof."

It is dark in the room, only the light from the outside patio lamp filtering through the blinds. The cover of darkness makes Jen bold, and as soon as her pants are off, she gets her hands under Judy’s t-shirt, lifting it and throwing it somewhere behind them, pressing Judy into the bed only in her panties.

Judy is almost incoherent already, aching with need.

She sits on the bed and moves back, until she is resting against the pillows, lifts herself up to see Jen better, leaning on her elbows, “Jen, you’re so beautiful.”

“You can’t see me,” Jen says, dismissively, as she joins Judy on the bed, sitting on her haunches astride Judy’s lap. She runs her hands slowly up Judy’s stomach until she is cupping her breasts, “so soft,” she whispers, “so pretty,” lifting them up, palming them carefully. She looks up at Judy’s face as she pinches her nipples, making Judy trash in the bed under her, “lie down fully, honey, let me touch you.”

“Jen, wait, oh, _shit_ ,” Judy breathes, as she lets Jen push her to lie flat on the bed, legs spreading to accommodate one of Jen’s thighs between them. Jen is heavy on top of her, her hip digging into Judy’s side, leg pressing in just the right place between her legs and Judy can only pant, desperate for more. She whimpers as she tries to rub her core against Jen’s thigh.

Jen is caressing her breasts, her mouth travelling down her body, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Judy shouts when her teeth close around one of her nipples.

She feels Jen’s hand moving dangerously low on her stomach, and reaches to grab her hand, “do you remember our conversation at the resort? about lushy poontangs?"

“Don’t say that word,” Jen growls. She moves up from where she was kissing her breasts to look at Judy in the eye, “and I don’t give a fuck how lush your-,” and she slides her fingers into Judy’s panties, her fingers tangling in her soft pubic hair, before slipping into the warm wetness below.

Judy is warm and so, so, wet.

Judy closes her eyes as her hips lift into her hand. “ _Jen_.”

“Fuck, Jude, you’re so hot,” she breathes into her ear, “lower your panties, honey.”

Judy can only give a soft whimper as Jen’s fingers tentatively slide around her wetness, while she pushes at her own clothing, lifting her hips, trying to help. She gives up halfway when Jen finds her entrance and pushes one finger inside, then two. It is a bit rough, a bit too fast, but _fuck_ , Judy likes it, cannot get enough of it. She claws weakly at Jen’s back, trying to pull Jen’s body closer, to bring all of Jen’s weight on top of her.

“What do you like, I’ve never done this-,” Jen thinks of what she likes, presses the heel of her hand against Judy’s clitoris and twists her fingers as she pushes a bit deeper, placing her thigh on top of her bended wrist, to get more traction, finding a rhythm.

Judy gives a loud moan, hips pressing into the mattress, upper body lifting off the bed, as her inner walls contract around Jen’s fingers. Contract, and contract, and then, release.

“Oh,” Jen breathes, as she kisses Judy’s lips, swallowing her little whimpers, and remembers the distance between having sex and making love, because when Judy comes on her fingers, walls tightening and wetness covering her hand, there is a tightness in Jen’s chest that feels like pure happiness.

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Sunday morning finds them tangled up in bed, naked under the covers.

Jen wakes up first, blinks her eyes open to the sight of Judy sleeping quietly next to her.

As a rule, Jen hates mornings. Those last few years, when Ted was still alive, she had scurried around, changing clothes half-hidden in her own fucking bathroom to avoid how disgusting he made her feel. Then, he had died and getting up from an empty bed had seemed even harder.

This morning is bizarre; waking up like this, with Judy in her arms, but it is not awkward. In fact, it is surprisingly easy. Warmth like joy spreads through her limbs as she presses closer.

“Are you cuddling into me?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, funny that. It totally feels like you _are_ ,” Judy murmurs as she lets her hands move down her back until she grabs at her buttocks, making Jen yelp in surprise. Judy uses it as leverage to press herself more fully against Jen, so that their stomachs, thighs, breasts, and faces rub against each other, “so soft. I like this.”

Judy inhales quietly as she feels herself start to twitch: tea kettle about to whistle.

It is inevitable, really.

She holds in the words that are pulsing in her stomach for maybe thirty full seconds. Surely it is not a whole minute, but still, retrospectively, when she thinks about it, she is inordinately proud of her own restraint. After all, she says it only _once_.

“I love you.”

Jen heaves a large sigh, moves her own hands slowly over Judy’s back, reaching into her hair and tightening her arms around her. She gives her a kiss on the nose, “I know, Judes. I love you, too,” she breathes quietly.

“You do?” Judy almost shouts, suddenly fully awake.

She jumps back to look at Jen’s face, and look; you have to understand, the highest grade Judy ever got in math at school was a B- in freshman year, which may or may not have been the result of her excellent eyesight and her efforts to befriend the nerdy girl that sat diagonally across from her, prey to the allure of smart women, even then.

Which means; she truly is _no_ good at math, and things like imagining the rotation of objects in space or parking cars are not her strong suits. She really should be less surprised than she is when she tumbles out of bed, almost dragging Jen with her.

“Ow.”

“Are you alright?” Jen asks as she peers at her over the edge of the bed, trying not to laugh.

“I think I broke my butt,” Judy whines, and then smiles, “wanna kiss it better?”

xxx

Judy cooks breakfast. She makes them a frittata, and waffles, and pancakes, and puts together a plate of freshly cut fruit, and Jen thinks if she had taken a longer shower, there may have been food for two armies, instead of just one.

“Do you think it’s enough food?”

“I’m fairly confident,” Judy nods seriously, as Jen takes a seat at the kitchen isle, “I wanted to cook something special for you, and then, I couldn’t decide what, so I thought I’d make _all_ of it,” she laughs, opening her arms to point at the display of food.

“Well, can’t fault that logic. Plus, Charlie and Henry love breakfast food for dinner,” Jen says, starting on a waffle, “although I may eat it all, it’s _so_ good, Judy.”

Judy gives her a large grin and moves closer. Then, she hesitates, not sure yet what is allowed between them. She wants to ask what it means that they have spent the night together, that Jen said she loves her. She wants to know if she is welcome to Jen’s bed, to her wardrobe, her drawers; if she can buy a Buddha for the bathroom.

She bites hard on her lip. She does not want to spoil this, overwhelm Jen.

“I kinda spoilt our romantic morning, didn’t I?” she says instead, as a compromise.

“Huh?” Jen talks around a huge mouthful of pancake, stuffing her face with it, ravenous now that she has started to eat, “whan do yamn?”

Judy smiles at her indulgently, “chew your food, honey.”

Jen gives her an indignant look, pointing at her with the butter knife, “talk.”

“Well, I mean, you said,” she frowns, “ _what you said_ , and I-,”

“You literally fell on your ass.”

Judy cringes, “well, I wasn’t expecting it!” she defends, “I’ll stay on my feet next time,” and she grabs the counter, just in case, “I mean, if there’s a next time, I wouldn’t want to assume that-,”

Jen interrupts her rambling, “you can be so silly, Jude. I love it,” she smiles, “you made our morning better. I love you.” And this type of declaration is usually hard for Jen, but it is not with Judy, not after last night. Not when it is just _them_.

Judy smiles brightly at that, “see? No concerns. Got my sea legs already,” except her fingers are white where she’s holding the isle, “I love you, too, Jen.”

Again, she manages to say it only once, which is a feat, because in her head, there is this voice that has been screaming it since she woke up. Nonstop. Full volume.

Jen goes back to eating, and Judy moves around her, stops, wants to touch her in some way.

“Why are you skulking behind me?”

“I’m _not_ skulking,” a pause, “fine, I _am_ ,” and her voice gets quiet, “can I hug you?”

Jen drops her knife on the plate and pivots around to face her, “Judy,” she whispers, and places her hands on her waist, “when it’s just the two of us, like this, you can touch me whenever you want, in any way you want. You never have to ask permission, ok?”

“I don’t?”

Jen shakes her head. It is not easy to talk about what this morning means, because it is a conversation that involves the future. They have no future; that is a luxury for people who have not buried a body in the forest. They are living in borrowed time, in the present, moving from one day to the next, to not focus on what they did, on its probable consequences.

Judy gives her a light kiss, cringes a bit, “alright, but I can be hover-y.”

Jen smiles, “I’ll tell you if it’s too much, how’s that?” she rolls her eyes, “probably in a way that’s rude and will hurt your feelings, I should probably apologize in advance. _Fuck_ , Judy, you’re going to have to forgive me a lot,” she takes a breath, “I’m not exactly a catch, here.”

“Don’t put yourself down!” Judy squeezes her arms around her, gives her another kiss when Jen tries to say something else, “you _are_ a catch. Finish your breakfast.”

Judy sits to her left, and when Jen grabs her cup of coffee, she puts her other hand on Judy’s thigh.

Judy beams into her own drink.

xxx

They had both gotten away with only a couple of bruises from their car accident. Still, when Jen keeps having dizzying spells over two months later, Judy insists they go to the clinic and Jen gets all kinds of tests. “Let’s go. You may have done something to your vertebra, Jen. Maybe something is misaligned.”

That makes Jen snort. “You mean like my whole life?”

“I’m driving us.”

“So bossy.”

“Don’t you love it?” Judy sasses, hip checking her.

Jen blushes a bit because she does like it, and Judy knows it. Their sexual relationship is still so new, and Jen likes that they are equals in that, as much as in any other facet of their relationship, but she _really_ likes it when Judy takes charge, presses her to the mattress and allows Jen to let go completely.

She has been in an orgasm-induced bliss for the last week, her body awakening on her with a vengeance. Judy’s hands burning their way across her skin. 

She feels loved up because Judy _cares so fucking much_. It is gross and she tries not to encourage it, because she hates feeling like a pampered woman but it is hard not to fall for Judy’s many charms.

Quite in contrast, she is a terrible caretaker, Jen.

She reminds herself every day that she must take care of Judy, too.

“Thank you, Jude,” she whispers.

“Hmmm, for what?”

“Don’t make me say it, it’s super gross.” Jen sniffs, alarming Judy, “just accept it.”

“Are you alright, hon? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jen mumbles, “you’ve turned me into a weakling. It’s so disgusting.”

“It’s all the sex,” Judy nods sagely.

“Fuck you.”

“Later, baby,” Judy winks, “now, let’s get to your appointment.”

Judy drives her Chevrolet Caprice like a 90-year-old granny, “I don’t know why you insisted we take your car, by the time we get there, I’ll have rheumatism.”

“And won’t you be happy to be at the doctor, then?”

“Is there an assisted facility next to it?” Jen asks, “just leave me at the door.”

“Nope,” Judy smiles, “but look, there’s a coffee shop. We can get a nice drink afterwards,” she says as she parks the car.

She has forced Jen to come to the doctor, but in all honesty, Judy spaces out a bit while they run the tests and check on Jen, and so, she does not really catch onto what the doctor is saying until Jen gets a vice-grip on her arm at the doctors’ words.

“What?” she says, eyes open as she looks at Jen’s pale face, “what is it?”

“I was telling your wife that you were both very lucky,” she smiles, “particularly, Ms. Harding, given her state.”

The doctor looks like she could be twenty, but Judy knows, rationally, that she must be at least thirty, given her job description.

“What state,” they both ask at the same time.

“Well, she’s expecting-,”

“Expecting _what_.”

xxx

“I’m 45, Judy,” she says in anguish that night in bed, snuggling into Judy’s arms. “How could this happen?”

“Do I need to explain the birds and the bees?” Judy asks as she rolls her eyes, pushing Jen gently away from her, so that she can look her in the eye, “I mean, there was Ben, right?”

“It was just _once_ ,” Jen pouts, raising a finger in the air, “one single time.”

Judy rolls her eyes, “oh please, like I believe that. You totally did it a bunch of times. I _know_ how you get.”

“Twice!” Jen says, “ok, maybe three times, but the last one doesn’t even count, because I didn’t come, and the previous two were not that great.”

Jen does not say how she may have imagined Steve fucking Judy the second time, when she had the best orgasm that night, and how then, she had felt so dirty about it, it was a miracle she had not pushed Ben out of her house sooner.

 _Great_. Likely, she conceived this child whilst thinking about Judy.

She will tell Judy eventually. Maybe. She is still trying to process her relief that there is no father; transform it into a socially acceptable feeling. Why does she have to be a monster? And then, feel bad about it? Like what type of person would be almost glad Ben is out the picture? Is it not enough to be a terrible person? Why does she have to suffer through the _awareness of it_?

She shakes her head, “I _cannot_ be over three months pregnant, for fucks’ sake.” But now that she knows, she _knows_.

It is true.

She has been here before and knows the signs, how sensitive she has been, how she struggled to fit into her favourite jeans last weekend. Even freaking Lorna had noticed her weight gain. She had been in such a cloud, a puppy in love with Judy and what they were doing, that she had simply not understood what her body was telling her all along.

“Yet, you are,” Judy smiles and looks at her with so much love in her eyes, it is almost blinding. Jen watches as Judy swallows, reigns in whatever her face is doing, and attempts to flatten her lips, remove all expression from her face.

She is trying so hard. Has been mostly quiet since the news.

“I’ll support you,” Judy finally says, “whatever you decide,” and, impossibly enough, Jen knows she means it, “go with you to any appointments, hold your hand.”

Jen loves her more, in that moment, than she has ever loved anyone.

Knows that this woman loves _her_ more than anyone has loved her, ever.

“Fuck it,” she laughs, and it sounds like not-crying, “you must really love me.”

“I do, Jen,” Judy says, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Judes, you know that, right?”

And Judy thinks this is the lead-on to Jen telling her that she cannot, at her age, have another child, so she straightens her back, nods as tears start falling down her cheeks, “I do, Jen, and I totally understand why you can’t-,”

“Can’t what?” Jen interrupts, index finger pressing against Judy’s lips. She shakes her head as her finger moves to tap her chest repeatedly, “you’d better believe we’re having this child, and you’re not getting out of _any of it_.”

“We are?”

“Hmmm,” Jen nods, “ _we_ are,” and Judy lets out something that may be a sob, but Jen cannot tell, because she hugs her around the waist and buries herself into her chest, pressing Jen back into the cushions.

They are quiet for a long time, just lying on the bed, Jen on her back against the pillows, and a shivery Judy on top of her. Jen runs her hands over Judy’s back and hair, hugging her to her body, waiting for Judy to calm down.

“I’m insufferable when I’m pregnant,” she finally whispers into Judy’s ear, making her snort.

“You’re insufferable when you aren’t, too.”

“Hey,” Jen complains, “you’ve got to be nice to me, it’s in the ‘how to be the perfect partner to a crazy pregnant woman’ rule book.”

“There’s a rule book, huh?” and Judy does not draw attention to the fact that Jen just called Judy _her partner_ , because this day has brought with it too many presents. Nobody is this lucky.

“Yes, there’s quite a few rules: rub my legs, answer the phone when Lorna calls, make me cherry pie at least once a month, run out at 3 am if I have a craving, that type of thing.”

Judy kisses her neck, smiling so wide she looks deranged, “cravings are good. Better than good.”

“I plan to have a lot of cravings,” and Jen cannot be serious right now, because the way Judy is looking at her, if she lets it go to her head, they are going to spend the next five months crying.

Judy regards her, “you make beautiful babies,” she murmurs, thinking of Charlie, Henry.

Jen blinks at that, “fuck it, Jude, don’t make me cry.”

Jen has dark tracks running down her cheeks from where her eyeliner has run, her eyes impossibly green in the afternoon twilight and Judy loves her.

_Loves her._

Loves her like she did not know she could love.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” Judy murmurs.

“I’m not a going to be a _kept_ woman,” Jen rolls her eyes, a part of her always having to boycott the good things that happen in her life, “I’m pregnant, not invalid.”

“You’re going to have to fight me to get off this bed,” she tells Jen, voice low, as she kisses her mouth, more tongue than lips. The thought of making love to a pregnant Jen suddenly the only thing on her mind.

Jen does not know it at this point, that throughout all their years together, Judy never stops finding Jen the most desirable and gorgeous woman in the world. Jen cannot imagine, now, how good things are about to get. How resisting Judy will only ever happen in jest, to make her eventual forfeit the more pleasurable.

Judy puts her hand on Jen’s stomach, slipping it under the waistband of her grey sweatpants, rubs a few circles at her little tummy, just under her bellybutton, where her skin is warm to the touch, soft, and maybe Judy is imagining it, but she can feel a slight bump. Then, she presses Jen into the pillows as she kisses her more firmly, swallowing Jen’s moans as she lets her hand slide lower, into a different kind of warmth.

xxx

“We’ve got to tell the boys,” Judy says, no nonsense expression on her face as they cook dinner that night. Which means, Judy is cooking, and Jen is staring at her.

“They _know_ , Judy,” Jen hisses, rolling her eyes, “you’ve been sleeping in my room most nights for over a fortnight.”

“Well, but I was sleeping there quite often just _before_ , too,” Judy argues, “and the doctor suggested it’s good I keep a closer eye on you, given your age.”

“Ugh, that made me feel ancient, when she said that.”

“You didn’t have to offer her a lollipop, Jen.”

“She’s _twelve_.”

“She seems like an excellent professional.”

“Kiss-ass.”

“Boys,” Judy says firmly, “we have to tell them.”

“Fine,” Jen makes a face.

“Fine,” Judy smiles primly and steals a quick kiss on her way to the stairs, “Charlie, Henry,” she calls, “come downstairs.”

“We’ve got some news for you guys,” Judy smiles once they are both seated across the kitchen isle. Jen is leaning against the sink, arms folded, lip sticking out petulantly. Judy rolls her eyes at her and turns to the children.

They talk at the same time.

“Judy and I are a couple.”

“Your mom’s pregnant!”

“What?”

“What.”

“Judy! That’s not the news we were going to tell them.”

“Oh,” Judy says, “when you said-, well, I mean, in terms of news, news, like I thought that was,” she points at her midriff and mouths the _biggest bit_.

“Seriously? Are you saying I’m fat?” Jen asks, indignant.

“Are we going to have a sister?” and the wonder in Henry’s voice puts a sudden halt to their bickering, sobering them up.

“Or a brother,” Judy whispers, misty eyed, as she loops her arm around Jen’s waist, moving in closer, her hand low on Jen’s hip, seeking her little bump, at the verge of impropriety. Jen twitches for a second, and then, moves her own arm around Judy, pressing her closer.

Henry thinks about it and nods energetically, blonde curls bouncing, “a boy’s good, but I think you should make us a sister.”

They all agree silently; god, a baby girl.

Judy thinks of a pouty green-eyed blonde girl, just as Jen imagines a mischievous brunette with tiny bangs.

“Now, mom,” Charlie says, interrupting their musing, “what have you guys been doing?” and he smirks.

“Oh, nothing like _that_ ,” Judy says, “well, I mean,” she frowns, “that’s not how it works, between women. You see-,” and Judy makes a hand gesture that makes Jen blush to the roots of her hair.

“Judy, I swear, shup up,” Jen says, “he’s just trying to rile you up.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Charlie whispers, but he does not sound contrite at all. “Stud,” he mumbles.

“Ok, Char, A, Judy did _not_ get me pregnant, and B, don’t be gross.”

“Are you getting married?” Henry asks, his young mind processing the news quite differently, “that’d be sweet. Can I carry the rings?”

“Of course,” Judy smiles.

“What? Judy, no.” Jen hisses, “we are _not_ getting married.”

“Why not,” Judy says, hands on hips, fake affronted, “The jury may still be out on you, but _I_ ’m a catch.”

Jen looks at the children. Henry is nodding at her, big smile on his face, and Charlie may be mouthing _are you stupid_? at her.

“Well, you didn’t even ask properly,” Jen says, flustered. She is _not_ a fucking romantic, but she should get a nice dinner and some flowers out of a proposal, surely.

“I like a challenge,” Judy singsongs.

“No flash mobs,” Jen whispers so that only she can hear.

“Now, wait a second,” Judy says loudly and suddenly, as she grabs Jen’s forearm somewhat painfully, the lightning of realization striking, “it was _not_ my cauliflower that made you sick,” and she smiles like the absolutely ridiculous person she is.

Charlie and Jen both groan loudly, starting to complain.

“I like cauliflower,” smiles Henry.

FIN.


End file.
